


Deeds of Rapt Enthusiasts

by Foophile



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Community: rounds_of_kink, Humiliation, Loss, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foophile/pseuds/Foophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, the resemblance drew him in but Michael wanted the man specifically because of who he was not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deeds of Rapt Enthusiasts

“God. Oh God!”

The man wouldn’t shut up. Even muffled by the pillows, there were still wild moans and whole words that slipped to derail Michael’s efforts. He clenched his eyes shut against the sight of a freckled too-pale back, arching and contorting in ways that only served to point out all of things that were so wrong (so wrong) with the moment.

His cock was encased in velvet heat that tightened so deliciously every time he thrust but even there the feeling was different – not tight enough and too soft from the guy’s preparations. He’d wanted Michael or anyone really to come around and fuck him, displaying his stocky build perfectly in just jeans and a t-shirt with the promise of skin as soft as his shorn scalp. But Michael chose him for reasons that neither of them expected. Yes, the resemblance drew him in but Michael wanted the man specifically because of who he was not. And yet now…

“What’s wrong?”

“Fuck!”

Michael withdrew his soft cock and threw himself down on the cold sheets. His face was burning under his hands and he couldn’t bring himself to look at his partner, whatever the fuck his name was, to demand that he get out.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh hell, you heard me,” Michael droned. “I’m not doing it for you. You sure aren’t doing it for me-,”

“Oh fuck you.”

Michael chuckled to himself. “Obviously not.”

The bed jarred as the man jumped off and Michael managed to look through his fingers as his partner snatched his clothing from the floor. There were more harsh words, most of which Michael ignored, as clothes were haphazardly pulled on over sweaty not-right skin and a face red with shame. Michael felt bad; he really did, but couldn’t find the right words to explain what he was trying to prove without hurting the man more.

By the time he’d thought to offer cab money, the man was already crashing through his living room, shouting something about Michael being in the closet (he wished) and tossing what sounded like his Waterford hand-cut crystal vase to the floor before slamming the door shut on his departure.

“Fuck,” Michael said again just to fill the moment, then he turned over to reach his cordless phone.

His fingers dialed as he stood and walked over to the harvest moon glowing through his window. The city was still busy below and when he cranked open the pane the sounds and crisp smells rushed in like they’d been waiting for his beckon. Fog hovered over the river below like a blanket, the cold of the water meeting the vibrating, city generated humidity of the air and overflowing onto the bridge and dark city streets.

Lincoln answered just as Michael thought about hanging up.

“What.”

Michael’s body shuddered at the gruff tone. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Need to work on those phone skills, big brother.”

“Bite me. It’s midnight. What do you want?”

“I need-,” Michael bit his lip to stop the truth from spilling out. He wondered if he could dare tell Lincoln what he’d tried to do. How he’d tried to replace his brother to prove that there could be another man. How his body had failed so spectacularly. “I can’t sleep," he said instead.

“Michael,” his brother sighed. Shivers went up Michael’s thighs that he didn’t think were caused by the fall breeze. “What do you need?”

And God, wasn’t that the question of the year? Michael’s heart swelled at the easy way Lincoln went from disgruntled to consoling. It was rare but once in a while Lincoln reminded him of how he used to be before the gangs and the drugs.

“Can you just talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” Michael said, cursing himself in turn at how seriously he meant that. Just from the warmth in his brother’s voice his cock was becoming interested again. He backtracked to his bed and sat, letting the night air sweep over the balls of his feet. “Please, just…”

There was a rustle of bed sheets on the other line and the distinctive sound of skin rubbing against the fabric. Michael rubbed his chest at the image that emerged.

Lincoln slept in just his boxer briefs and his thick thighs would be stretching across the bed as he shifted to get comfortable. Long arms would slip under the pillow Lincoln’s head rested upon, displaying easy strength that Michael could almost feel on his body, holding his hips down and allowing Michael to do little more than open his legs.

And he would definitely do so…if Lincoln only knew.

His cock was hard. Inordinately hard for what little had been done to encourage it and Michael dug his head into his pillow feeling the familiar sickness that came with how insane his long held obsession had become. He touched his fluttering belly, his traitorous hand moving of its own accord to alleviate the pulsing ache between his legs.

Lincoln was simply talking about his day. Some asshole at his new job that loved bossing him around because he was an ex-con who’d had to beg for the work. Michael wasn’t listening to the words. He hadn’t called for an update. Michael clung to the rumbling cadence of his brother’s voice, stroking his cock and hoping that Lincoln was too tired to catch on.

And if he could hear...Damn, if Lincoln could hear? Michael’s hand sped up on his cock, his eyes closing while he held his breath and tightened his grip to the point where it almost hurt. Lincoln was muttering, on the verge of falling back to sleep, but Michael could still hear the whisper of his voice, the in-out of the air through his nose.

So engrossed, it took him a few seconds to even recognize that Lincoln was saying his name.

“Wh-what?” Michael’s voice broke on a high pitch.

“Are you alright?”

Michael’s heart was pounding and his body burning to finish what he’d started. He gritted his teeth as he answered, “I’m fine. Keep going.”

He heard Lincoln suck in a deep breath. “What are you doing?”

Michael was certain that Lincoln could hear his pants, the slick sound of his strokes through the pre-come flowing freely in his hand. God, he was so close. If Lincoln only would keep it up so that this latest craze for his brother could be sated. At least, until the next.

“Nothing,” Michael ground out. “I just can’t sleep.”

“You sound like-,” Lincoln laughed to himself and Michael’s eyes rolled back into his head. Just little more.

The smallest echo of a grunt battered its way down Michael’s throat and he froze at Lincoln’s whispered exclamation, the shock that rocked down the line.

“Holy shit.”

Michael couldn’t breathe but that seemed to boost his body’s need and response. Hand still around his cock, he felt like he was hanging by a noose.

“Michael, are you touching yourself?”

He barely had the presence of mind to disconnect before he came. The next seconds were blissfully lost in a haze and Michael opened his eyes only after the spurts of his come began to cool on his hand and stomach. Guilt rolled in heavy on its heels.

Michael was cleaning up his mess when the phone rang. Immediately, Lincoln’s number popped up on the caller id. He stood and retreated to the safety of his bathroom so that he wouldn’t be tempted to answer it.

Lincoln’s voice was deeper over the answering machine. “Michael pick up the phone. I-I’m not mad or anything. I just want to talk to you.” There was a long silence that slowed Michael’s footsteps, nearly made him turn back. When Lincoln spoke again his hurried whisper nearly stopped Michael’s heart. “I think…It’s okay, Michael. God, I _know_ it’s okay. Just pick up the phone.”

There was no way to explain away what Michael had been doing and no reason at all for Lincoln to condone it. Yet he wanted to talk. Michael didn’t dare to hope but looking up at the russet moon overhead he stepped back into the glow.

The sound of the city almost drowned out Lincoln’s desperate, “Please.”

Michael picked up the phone.

END


End file.
